The Art of Lawn Tennis

I began tennis wrong. My strokes were wrong and my viewpoint clouded. I had no early training such as many of our American boys have at the present time. No one told me the importance of the fundamentals of the game, such as keeping the eye on the ball or correct body position and footwork. I was given a racquet and allowed to hit the ball. Naturally, like all beginners, I acquired many very serious faults. I worried along with moderate success until I had been graduated from school, beating some fairly good players, but losing some matches to men below my class. The year following my graduation the new Captain of my Alma Mater's team asked me if I would aid him in developing the squad for next year. Well, "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread," so I said Yes.

At that point my tennis education began.

The youngsters comprising our tennis squad all knew me well and felt at perfect liberty to ask me as many questions as they could think up. I was besieged with requests to explain why Jones missed a forehand drive down the side-line, or Smith couldn't serve well, or Brown failed to hit the ball at all. Frankly, I did not know, but I answered them something at the moment and said to myself it was time I learned some fundamentals of tennis. So I began to study the reasons why certain shots are missed and others made. Why certain balls are hit so much faster though with less effort than others, and why some players are great while most are only good.

Tennis is played primarily with the mind. The most perfect racquet technique in the world will not suffice if the directing mind is wandering. There are many causes of a wandering mind in a tennis match. The chief one is lack of interest in the game. No one should play tennis with an idea of real success unless he cares sufficiently about the game to be willing to do the drudgery necessary in learning the game correctly. Give it up at once unless you are willing to work. Conditions of play or the noises in the gallery often confuse and bewilder experienced match-players playing under new surroundings. Complete concentration on the matter in hand is the only cure for a wandering mind, and the sooner the lesson is learned the more rapid the improvement of the player. An amusing example, to all but the player affected, occurred at the finals of the Delaware State Singles Championship at Wilmington. I was playing Joseph J. Armstrong. The Championship Court borders the No. 1 hole of the famous golf course. The score stood at one set all and 3-4 and 30-40, Armstrong serving. He served a fault and started a second delivery. Just as he commenced his swing, a loud and very lusty "Fore!" rang out from the links. Armstrong unconsciously looked away and served his delivery to the backstop and the game to me. The umpire refused to "let" call and the incident closed. Yet a wandering mind in that case meant the loss of a set.

I owe one of my most notable victories to a very timely and somewhat lucky lob. I was playing Norman E. Brookes in the fifth round of the American Championships at Forest Hills, in 1919. The score stood one set all, 3-2 and 30-15, Brookes serving. In a series of driving returns from his forehand to my backhand, he suddenly switched and pounded the ball to my forehand corner and rushed to the net. I knew Brookes crowded the net, and with 40-15 or 30-all at stake on my shot, I took a chance and tossed the ball up in the air over Brookes' head. It was not a great lob, but it was a good one. For once Brookes was caught napping, expecting a drive down the line. He hesitated, then turned and chased the ball to the back stop, missing it on his return. I heard him grunt as he turned, and knew that he was badly winded. He missed his volley off my return of the next service, and I led at 30-40. The final point of the game came when he again threw me far out of court on my forehand, and, expecting the line drive again, crowded the net, only to have the ball rise in the air over his head. He made a desperate effort at recovery, but failed, and the game was mine: 3-all. It proved the turning-point in the match, for it not only tired Brookes, but it forced him to hang back a little from the net so as to protect his overhead, so that his net attack weakened opportunely, and I was able to nose out the match in 4 sets.

During the Davis Cup match against the French at Eastbourne, I went on the court against Laurentz in my blue "woolly" sweater. The day was cold, and I played the match 4-1 in Laurentz' favour, still wearing it. I started to remove it at the beginning of the sixth game, when the gallery burst into loud applause, out of which floated a sweet feminine voice: "Good! Now maybe the poor boy will be able to play!"

For the first time I realized just what the gallery thought of my efforts to play tennis, and also of the handicap of the famous "blue-bearskin" as they termed it.

My favourite expression during my Davis Cup trip happened to be "Peach" for any particularly good shot by my opponent. The gallery at the Championship, quick to appreciate any mannerism of a player, and to, know him by it, enjoyed the remark on many occasions as the ball went floating by me. In my match with Kingscote in the final set, the court was very slippery owing to the heavy drizzle that had been falling throughout the match. At 3-2 in my favour, I essayed a journey to the net, only to have Kingscote pass me 'cross court to my backhand. I turned and started rapidly for the shot murmuring "Peach" as I went. Suddenly my feet went out and I rolled over on the ground, sliding some distance, mainly on my face. I arose, dripping, just in time to hear, sotto voce, in the gallery at my side: "A little bit crushed, that Peach."